


Six Weeks

by Relevant_Peach



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 11:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20891120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relevant_Peach/pseuds/Relevant_Peach
Summary: He can't blame him for giving in to the demands of his family.  Even if it tears him apart in the process.





	Six Weeks

6 Weeks

He wakes to the feeling of the bed dipping as someone else crawls into it. “Wha’ time?” he mumbles sleepily.

“Middle of the night” the voice is quiet, even though there’s nobody here to wake. Kreacher likely has been secreted away in his disgusting hidey hole for hours. It’s just them.

“Missed you” Harry says sleepily, wrapping around his bed partner like a limpet, burying his nose into that beloved neck.

“Mmm” Harry’s declaration is barely acknowledged as his bedmate snuggles in, places freezing cold feet against Harry’s calves, causing him to laugh and wriggle. Harry nibbles an ear, runs a loving hand over a nipple. The body beneath his hand stiffens.

“What is it?” There’s no answer for a long time, long enough that Harry suspects that he’s not going to get a response at all. 

This happens sometimes, though, so he simply snuggles in tighter and tries to warm the cold body. Finally though, a deep voice in the darkness, sounding as though the world has ended. “My father has set a date”

Ah. The world has ended. “When?” Harry asks 

“Six weeks. My mother will be in hysterics, planning”

Harry doesn’t say anything, because there’s no suitable response to a situation like this. He clings tighter, gently running his hands along the plane of a thigh, the shell of an ear. Memorizing body parts that he already knows better than his own.

This isn’t a night for sex, and so both occupants of the bed fall into an uneasy sleep, each feeling lonely despite their physical closeness.

Harry awakens as the sun starts to bleed across the threshold of his bedroom. He finds that he is plastered against a warm body and as he opens his eyes, grey ones are staring back at him.

“Draco” Harry says. He communicates a lot with that one word. Love, and loss and yearning, and acceptance.

“Harry. I’m sorry”

“I know. But don’t be. We knew that we were on borrowed time. You’ve been betrothed to Astoria since you were seven years old. Lucius isn’t a patient man”

“I wish-“

“Yes, I know. I wish too, but I understand”

“How can you?”

“Understand? Easy. Going against your marriage contract means that you lose your family. If I had a family, I wouldn’t do anything to lose that. I’d never ask you to”

“This is so fucked up” Draco is angry, but Harry places a stilling hand on his arm.

“I know. It sucks to have choice taken away from you. But you choose what happens in the next six weeks, Draco. If you want to come to me, I’m here. I will welcome you into my bed, and I will love you. If you want to go now, and never see me again, I will accept that, and wish you well.”

They fight then. Draco calls him a doormat, asks him how Draco can mean so little to him. Harry calls him a git and tells him that he’s trying to make it easier for him. Harry ends up standing in front of him, breathing heavy, eyes flashing. “I love you, you stupid prat. Don’t you dare tell me that you don’t mean anything to me. I love you enough to let you go, you arsehole!” Draco launches himself at Harry and their kisses are frantic, desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues and Harry’s glasses are crushed against Draco’s face, but he’s desperate to taste and suck and touch every inch of Harry.

Harry’s like a short, lithe octopus, arms and legs surrounding Draco as though he’d like to climb inside him. Draco accepts the armful of passionate Wizard joyfully, and staggers backward onto the bed. “Harry” Draco breathes frantically into Harry’s ear. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me so hard I feel it for days”

Harry’s eager to comply, his beautiful, talented mouth licking and sucking his way down Draco’s torso until his mouth is on Draco’s cock, engulfing it completely, his wicked tongue causing Draco’s breath to catch in his throat. Harry’s fingers are caressing his balls, and he’s wordlessly conjuring a handful of lube. As Harry’s finger penetrates Draco’s hole, Draco whimpers. “Yes, Harry. More” 

Harry’s preparing him frantically, his index finger rubbing his prostate in time with his bobbing head. He scissors Draco’s opening and when Draco can’t take the torture any longer he begs “Please Harry, in me, I’ll die if you don’t”

Harry’s cock inside Draco fills him completely. His hands grab Draco’s hips roughly, and he’s thrusting hard and fast, his skin slapping against Draco’s. He slams against Draco’s prostate, and impossibly soon, Draco’s seeing stars, and his seed is spattering his chest and Harry’s. With a whimper that’s almost a sob, Harry’s coming inside Draco. They collapse against one another, too spent to cast a cleansing spell until their bodies are stuck together with dried come. Harry yipes as he separates them. Casting Tergeo, Harry peppers gentle kisses on Draco’s tightly closed eyes, murmuring endearments. “Baby.” Kiss. “Never” Kiss. “Doubt” Kiss. “That I” Kiss. “Worship” Kiss. “You”. Kiss. Harry kisses the tears as they roll down Draco’s cheeks.

It’s only after Draco leaves, with muttered excuses about robe fittings and cake tastings does Harry’s mask fall. He collapses to the floor in the hallway after seeing Draco to the door and sobs until his eyes are swollen shut. He lays prone there, the tile soothing his hot forehead, his tears pooling, until Kreacher finally comes. “Master Harry is to be going to bed” Despite Harry’s weak protests, Kreacher prods him up the stairs, runs a bath for him, bullies him into pyjamas and sends him to bed. Harry lies there, unable to sleep…he’d just gotten up a few hours ago, after all. An owl from Hermione comes, but he shoos it away. When it returns an hour or so later, he screams at it, and waves his hands until it flies out the window with a disgruntled hoot.

Two days pass before his bedroom door opens again in the darkness, and a slim, pale body steals into the covers beside him. Harry unfolds like a flower, surrounding the beloved form of his love. “I got a rather pointedly-worded owl from Granger” Draco says.

“Oh” Harry can’t think of anything else to say.

“Harry, have you been in this bed since I left?”

“‘M fine”

“Yes, obviously you are.” Harry is desperate to distract Draco. His hands steal down to Draco’s cock, encircling the flesh and stroking it to hardness.

“Draco. I want to suck you. I want to taste your come”

Draco groans. Harry slides down his body and takes Draco into his mouth. When he’s sucked him to near-climax, he parts Draco’s legs, finds the rosebud pucker and encircles it with his tongue. Draco’s whimpers are delicious. “Harry” he begs. Harry’s tongue is determined, plunging inside Draco’s channel, his mouth hot. His tongue teases, so close to Draco’s prostate, but not touching. Draco writhes. “Fuck me, Harry”

Harry fucks him slow this time, his cock plunging in, inch by excruciating inch. His eyes never leave Draco’s and Harry thinks he may lose himself inside the sea-storm depths of Draco’s gaze. He makes love to Draco with everything he has, and when he spends himself inside him, leaves behind traces of his heart. His orgasm triggers tears, which Harry quickly swipes away so Draco doesn’t see.

Of course he sees. “Harry, I can’t do this to you. We’re breaking our hearts, doing this. It’s never going to be easier.” He stands, spells himself clean with a harsher than needed Tergeo. “I can’t come back, Harry. It’s too hard.” He stops for a moment at the doorway, his face immeasurably sad. “Be happy, Harry”

The front door closes and Harry listens for the distant sound of Draco apparating away. When it becomes obvious that Draco isn’t going to come back, he drags the blanket from his bed, still smelling of them, and climbs the stairs. As he climbs out onto the rooftop patio, he wraps the blanket around him, inhaling deeply. He stares at the stars until the sun rises.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next time he’s aware of anything, it’s warm, and sunny, and someone’s talking to him. For a moment, he is hopeful that it’s Draco, but the voice is wrong, a tenor instead of a baritone. Ron. He squints up and Ron’s face is a solar eclipse, his red hair a flare of brightness. He’s still talking, but Harry doesn’t really know what he’s saying. The voice sounds kindly enough, though, so at least he’s not in trouble. Ron is holding out his hand, and Harry blinks at it stupidly, unsure what to do with it.

He hears a heavy sigh, and the hulking frame sinks to his haunches, looks at him with gentleness and says “Not going to make this easy, huh mate? No, Harry is pretty sure he’s not making it easy. Ron reaches out to him, and picks him up, carrying him fireman style down the stairs to his bathroom. Waving his wand at the taps, a bath begins to fill, and Ron sits him gently down on the edge of the tub. When the bath is full, he removes the blanket, not mentioning the fact that Harry is naked underneath. Harry feels bereft at the loss of the blanket, especially when Ron’s nose wrinkles and he tosses it out in the hallway. Kreacher will whisk it away and wash it, and then nothing will smell of Draco ever again. Ron lowers him into the bath, washes his hair, hands him a sudsy sponge. Harry looks at it dumbly for a while. With a world-weary sigh, Ron says “If you ever doubt that I’m your best friend”. He washes Harry quickly, drains the bath, wraps him in a fluffy towel. When it becomes evident that Harry can’t comprehend what to do with the boxers, jogging pants and t-shirt that Ron hands him, he heaves another sigh and holds the boxers for Harry to step into, followed by the joggers and pulls the t-shirt over his head. There’s a bit of a skirmish as Ron wrestles his arms through the appropriate holes and then he looks at him. “You look like shit, Har. ‘Mione would never forgive me if I left you here. Come on”

4 Weeks 

Ensconced in the warmth of Ron and Hermione’s little cottage, their daughter Rosie toddling around him, Harry starts to emerge from the fog that’s surrounded him since Draco left him. Harry practices telling himself: Draco has left me. It’s over. He hopes that if he says it enough times, it will stop causing the stabbing anguish in his chest. So far, it hasn’t worked. At least, however, Harry is becoming aware of his surroundings, and doesn’t slip again into the fugue state that captured him on the roof.

Two weeks pass. Harry tells himself: Draco is marrying someone else in four weeks. He wants to go home. Hermione tells him that he shouldn’t be surrounded by memories. He stays, the spare bedroom at Ron and Hermione’s bland and impersonal. Ron takes him flying most nights after he gets home from the Ministry, and Harry stops looking up hopefully every time an owl appears. They’re never from Draco. 

Harry takes to conjuring his Patronus. The stag stomps around the spare room, tossing his be-antlered head. Harry tells it things. Tells it how Draco’s eyes looked the first time he kissed him. Tells him how, after the trials were over, he and Draco had been on some fund-raising committee together, they’d finally laid their animosity to rest. How they’d started meeting for coffee, for pints, for dinner, and one night, for fire whiskey in Harry’s living room. How they’d gotten spectacularly drunk and after some all-too-obvious maneuvering, had found themselves sitting close on the sofa. How Draco had told him he’d always wanted to know something. How Harry had whispered “What’s that?” and how Draco had leaned over, and captured his lips.

The stag listens carefully to Harry, edging closer and tilting its head curiously. Then Harry says “But he’s gone forever, and soon he’ll be fucking Astoria, and she’ll be having his children”. The stag dissipates. Harry doesn’t bother to try to conjure it again.

3 Weeks

After promising to redecorate his bedroom, Harry is allowed to go home. He has no desire to change anything about his room, but is more frightened of Hermione’s wrath, so he hires a decorator and moves into Sirius’ room while she works. It takes two days, and the resulting room is…fine. He moves back into his room, spends most of his days in the Library, reading books on wandlore. 

One night, he’s fallen asleep on the sofa when there’s an almighty banging at the front door. He stumbles to the door, hair looking like he’d been in a violent windstorm, glasses clutched in one hand. As he opens the door, Draco stumbles through, landing on his knees. He’s crying so hard he can’t catch his breath. “I can’t-I can’t…I need…” Harry picks him up like a child, carries him to the sofa. Draco is clutching at his shirt, sobs wracking his too-thin frame. Harry shushes him, rubs his back, coos at him. Finally, when the storms abate, Draco’s red-rimmed eyes meet his. “I’m sorry” he says wearily.

“I know” Harry says.

“I’m sorry for coming here. I’m such a dick for coming here. I just missed you. I missed touching you, being with you, but I also missed my best friend.”

“I know”

“That’s the part that I can’t seem to cope with. I’m losing my lover and my best friend all at the same time. I’m so lonely”

The pissy, hurt part of Harry wants to suggest he go ask Astoria to help him with his loneliness, but he doesn’t. This isn’t Draco’s fault anymore than it’s his.

Draco looks at him “You aren’t eating enough” Harry shrugs. “Are you sleeping?”

“Some”

“Do you need anything?”

Harry considers this. He needs Draco, needs him like air, and sunshine, food. Deciding that this isn’t a productive line of conversation, he finally shakes his head. 

“I should go. Nobody knows I’m gone” Draco stands, casts a glamour on his face to hide the ravages of his tears. 

He leans to hug Harry, who stiffens. “Don’t” Harry says. His voice is strangled. Looking devastated, Draco nods, turns on his heel, apparates away.

2 Weeks

Luna has brought him an injured snake. Harry didn’t realize that he wanted a pet, but she claims that the snake is unable to tell her where it hurts, and it’s an ideal situation. The snake is ill mannered and not overly inclined to conversation. “You speak?” it asks, dismissively, as though Harry were sullying the noble language of the snake.

“I do. Luna says that you’re not feeling well?”

“My head hurts”

“Would you like to take some of this potion? I think it will help with the headache”

The snake deigns to try the potion. “How long must I stay here?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Not to be rude, but I didn’t actually ask for you to be here. Luna just dropped you here. I could send you back”

“I want to go home. Not to the yellow-haired human, to my real home”

“I’m sorry. Would you like me to take you there? Do you have a family?”

“I haven’t had a mate in a long time. And I will go home when I feel better.”

The snake seems depressed, and its sarky attitude devolves over the day, to the point where it no longer answers Harry. 

Despite the lack of conversation, caring for a concussed snake takes up a surprising amount of time, and so Harry’s tired when he climbs the stairs and crawls into his bed. It’s a different bed than the one he shared with Draco, and it feels lonely and impersonal. Harry sighs as he snuggles beneath the duvet. 

It’s past two when Harry’s bedroom door flings open. Harry’s on his feet, wand in hand before his eyes are focused. As he realizes who it is, his wand arm drops to his side.

Draco is disgustingly drunk. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned, and his hair bears evidence of someone running their hands through it. Somehow, he’s lost a shoe. “Harry” he whispers urgently. 

“Draco. What’s wrong?” Harry’s voice is sleep rough. He isn’t sure where his glasses are, and Draco appears as a haze. 

“Why should there be anything wrong?” Draco slurs. “I’m getting married in two weeks. I’m fulfilling the Malfoy destiny. Was out celebrating” He lurches, stumbles.

Harry grabs him, sets him down on the bed. “Why are you here, then?” he finally asks.

“‘M best fren’” Draco mumbles. “Wanted to see my best fren’”

“Draco” Harry’s exhausted, and tempted, and pissed off that he’s finally found someone who accepts him as he is, and loves him, and he can’t have him, but he’s here sitting on Harry’s bed, looking, frankly, adorable. Life isn’t fair. Harry’s known this for a long time, obviously, but he rather hoped that, having fulfilled a prophesy and defeated a Dark Lord, that he’d catch a break once in a while.

“Harry” Draco’s unfocused eyes make their meandering way to his mouth. With a lurch, he throws himself at Harry, and they’re kissing, until suddenly Draco pulls away with a look of panic and is violently, disgustingly sick over the side of the bed. With a sigh, Harry vanishes the sick, and casts a slightly more violent cleansing charm than was strictly required on Draco. “I’m sorry” Draco whispers unevenly.

“Me too” says Harry, again. He pulls the duvet over Draco, who’s already snoring loudly and heads downstairs to sleep on the couch.

The snake, who’s been napping by the fire, lifts its head in interest. “Do you only know yellow-haired people?”

“It’s a coincidence. Your sample size is too small to make that conclusion”

“He smelled funny”

“He doesn’t usually smell like that. Normally he smells…great”

“Ah, he’s your mate!” The snake seems enthusiastic.

“No. No, he’s not”

“That’s not what your scent says”

“It’s complicated. I’m going to sleep now”

When Harry awakes the next morning, Draco is sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, holding his socks, looking lost. His eyes rise to meet Harry’s.

“Brought you a hangover potion” Harry says, passing it over. Draco consumes it with a shudder.

“Thanks. I don’t know how I ended up here last night. I’m sorry”

“Draco, could you stop apologizing? I understand. You don’t need to keep beating yourself up”

“I feel like I’m being sent to my death” Draco says bleakly. Harry knows that feeling. He nods, crouches between Draco’s knees, looks up into his face. 

Harry wipes the tears that have appeared on Draco’s lashes. “You’re going to be okay, Ferret-boy” he says gently.

“What do you know, Scar-head?” There’s a trace of a smile on Draco’s pained face. “I miss you. It’s like a constant ache”

“I know” Harry says.

Draco’s eyes flash. “Why do you keep comforting me? How are you okay with this?”

“Draco-“

“Did it all mean so little to you that you can just pick me up when I fall through your door, and put me to bed and send me away? Don’t you care at all?”

Something changes in Harry’s face then, and Draco feels a tiny thrill of anxiety. For all his affability, Harry is the most powerful Wizard in the world. And he’s just made him mad.

“Fuck you” Harry says lowly. “Is that what you really think, Draco?” He stands, walks to the window, places his head against the glass. “I have been tearing myself to pieces to be strong for you. I know you have no choice. I know this is hard on you. But it’s hard for me too” his voice cracks then, and Draco knows he’s crying. He continues in a whisper. “I think about you every second of every day. I dream about you all night. I feel like a part of me has been ripped away and I fucking ache from it all the fucking time, Draco”

He turns around, and Draco sees his face and immediately wishes he’d turn away again. Pain this naked shouldn’t have to be witnessed. “Draco, this has broken my fucking heart. I have been changed by this. I will never be the same.” He takes a step towards the door. “Is that what you wanted to know?”

Draco grabs his arm, and they’re both crying and kissing. With a little giggle, Harry pulls away. “Baby? Your mouth tastes awful” He casts a freshening charm, and they’re laughing and crying. Draco pulls Harry down onto the bed. They’re frantic, clothes being tugged off with urgency and still they’re kissing and tasting and biting. Draco tries to remove Harry’s t-shirt but it gets tangled around their heads and even still, neither can bear to allow their lips to part, so they leave the shirt tangled around Harry’s neck while they pull off pants. Harry’s lying on top of Draco, elbows propped around Draco’s head on the pillow. It’s all he can do to make sure that their skin is touching as much as possible. He grinds his cock against Draco and he releases a strangled sound through their entwined lips. A few moments of desperate frottage, and they’re both coming. Harry howls as his seed flies all over Draco.

As they come down from their orgasms, Harry weeps into Draco’s shoulder. Draco pets Harry’s head, and wonders bleakly, of all that he’s done, if this is the worst atrocity he’s ever committed to another human being.

They barely look at one another as they stumble into clothing. They both know that this is goodbye.

After Draco leaves, Harry removes him from the wards. Then he gets spectacularly drunk and destroys his library. He wakes the following morning, sticky dried blood on his face from shattered glass hitting him in the face as he smashed and rampaged. The snake had come in sometime in the night and lies curled around him. Harry pets the snake on the head and tries not to think of the future.

1 Week

Harry presents himself at Ron and Hermione’s door, ready for babysitting duty. Hermione is walking around on one heel, muttering under her breath and trying to find the mate to her shoe.

“Honestly, who has a fucking engagement party the week before their sodding wedding?” she says as she gives up on the missing shoe and kicks its mate across the room. “Harry!” She encloses him in one of her breathtaking hugs, and Harry takes the comfort, lingering in the embrace for a moment longer than usual.

“You’re lucky you aren’t going to this stupid thing, mate” Ron says, through a sandwich as he emerges from the kitchen, Rosie perched in one arm. Hermione slaps his arm and he says “What? It’s going to be bloody awful”

“Honestly, Ron, you have no sensitivity” Hermione hisses. Her tone wakes the snake, who has decided to come along and keep Harry company.

“A speaker?” the snake asks.

“Nope, just a pissed off wife” Harry says to the snake, then, switching to English, says “Guys, it’s fine. I know that you guys have to go, and believe me, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with Rosie.”

“I still say we should skip it” Ron says. “Solidarity with Harry, and all”

“It’s hard to show solidarity for a relationship that four people know about” Harry says. “And the only reason you two know is because you stumbled in on-“

“Mate. We agreed to never mention that again” Ron says forcefully. “I don’t mind that you’re bent, but I could do without the memory of Malfoy’s lily-white arse”

Harry feels a pang of anguish. He loved Draco’s arse, spent hours worshipping it. 

“Harry? Why do you have an enormous python in the same room as my daughter?” Hermione wants to know. The snake is looking at her with interest.

“He’s bored at my place. He promised to behave” The snake had done no such thing, but Harry had warned that if he caught it anywhere near Harry’s Goddaughter, that he’d Avada him without the slightest compunction. 

“You’re not an ideal babysitter” Hermione grumbles.

“We could leave” Harry offers, and Ron looks briefly hopeful. Hermione just sighs and digs another pair of heels out of the cupboard. 

After they leave, he settles Rosie in the rocker on his lap with Beetle the Bard. The old stories comfort him, and he always reads ‘the Three Brothers’ first. The little girl’s eyes eventually close, and Harry settles her in her cot, awash with love, and fighting the feeling of being on the outside looking in. 

Ron and Hermione are home before he knows it. Ron’s drunk too much at the party, and he’s verbose. “Malfoy looks like shit, mate. It was like being at a funeral.”

“Ron, shut up” Hermione says.

“It’s true, ‘Mione. He kept looking at the door. Plus, he got into a spat with Parkinson”

“Draco fought with Pansy?” She was his oldest friend. Harry’s heart lurches. If he falls out with Pansy, Draco will truly have nobody. It doesn’t cross his mind that his wife-to-be might prove to be a source of comfort.

“Not sure what about. It was all whispers, and grabbed arms”

Harry refuses offers of a nightcap, and disappears through the door. He’s about to apparate home, but on impulse, changes his destination at the last minute. The snake dislikes apparation and makes its displeasure known.

“Why are we standing at a gate in the cold?”

“Quiet. I’m watching. Anyhow, I cast a warming charm on you”

“It might be more fun inside, at the party”

“It won’t”

“Your cheeks are salty”

“Sorry”

“I like it”

Harry stands there, a massive snake licking the tears from his cheeks until nearly morning. 

1 Day

It’s almost over, Harry tells himself. He’s decided to renovate the top floor of Grimmauld, and the sheer amount of dark objects he’s unearthed has him at a loss.

The snake has found a rat in a corner, and is thrilled by the impromptu snack. As it digests, it wraps its now-lumpy body around Harry and falls asleep.

Hermione’s bushy head appears around the stairs. “Thought you might like some company”

“I would” Harry says. “I’ll have to call the Ministry to come sort all this faff out before I can move on anyhow.”

“I brought gin”

“You really are the smartest witch I know”

“So we’ll get pissed and pass out after dancing to Muggle music?”

“Don’t we always?” It’s true. Gin and Muggle music have gotten them through several of the major crises in their lives. When Hermione lost her first pregnancy. When Harry dropped out of the Aurors, and then dropped out of society. When Andromeda suggested that Harry might be a little too unstable to take an active role in Teddy Lupin’s life. When Hermione had gotten into a screaming match with Molly Weasley over the way she ran her marriage. Gin and Muggle music has become a staple. “Where’s Ron?”

“He’s on dad-duty.”

“That’s a downside to being a parent”

“Just means I get you to myself.” Hermione is making them enormous Gin and Tonics. Harry slices limes, fires some crisps in a bowl. 

The snake is watching the process with interest. “I like this one. She’s angry a lot”

Harry laughs. “She is that”

“What’s that demon creature saying?” Hermione asks with a half-hearted glare.

“He admires your spirit” he assures her.

They get spectacularly pissed, dancing to David Bowie records that Sirius left behind. As the night winds to a close, and they create a little nest on the couch, with blankets, and a bucket just in case, Harry whispers to her “I loved him”

Hermione whispers back “I know”

The next morning, the sun assaults them through the big window and Harry feels like he’s been trampled by Hippogriffs. “My mouth tastes like owl shit” he whispers to Hermione.

“Stop talking so loud” she whispers back, summoning her beaded handbag, which is looking a little threadbare these days. “Accio hangover potions” she whispers into its depths, and the bottles clank cheerfully as they zoom into her hand.

“Shhh” Harry begs. 

After the hangover potions, they’re beginning to feel almost human again. Kreacher presses eggs and toast on them, and they manage to eat a little, companionably drinking tea and watching home decorating shows on the telly.

It’s ten-thirty when there’s an enormous banging on the door. Harry and Hermione look at each other in confusion. With a shrug, Harry lopes to the door. Outside, he can hear a voice shouting his name. Suspicion dawning, he flings the door open. Draco, clad in a morning coat and tuxedo pants, crisp white shirt unevenly buttoned, flings himself through the door.

“Harry” he says, stopping in his tracks to look at him. Harry absently notices that he’s not wearing shoes, which is a bold choice for November.

“Draco” he says evenly. “I think you have somewhere you’re meant to be”

“No” he says. “I’m meant to be here. I can’t go through with it, Harry. I can’t give you up.”

“You’re mad. Your parents…your name…”

“Fuck it all.” Draco pronounces soundly. “I don’t give a toss. Well, I do, obviously, I’m fucking devastated. But you know what? It’s nothing compared to what I’ve gone through the past six weeks.”

“What are you saying, Draco?”

“I want you, you scar-headed, terrible-haired git. I want to be with you, for the rest of my life” he stops suddenly, his face filling with apprehension. “If you’ll have me, that is. I’ve been a shit to you, Harry, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again. But I choose you, if you’ll let me. I cho-“ his words are cut off as Harry grabs him and kisses him.

“What if you regret this?” Harry asks, his voice small. “What if you resent me for robbing you of your family?”

“I’d regret a life without you more. Harry, will you have me?”

Harry promptly bursts into tears. “Yes. Fuck. Yes, Draco, I’ve been so miserable, and I thought I’d never get any better. I- Yes. Yes, I’ll have you”

“That’s good, because I don’t really have a plan ‘b’” Draco says with a laugh that’s only a little hysterical. “I ran out on the wedding morning preparations, I left Astoria with her family in floods of tears, and I’m pretty sure her Father’s going to want to duel me. My Parents have disowned me…”

“So you’re a real catch, then?” Harry’s smile is so fond that Draco wants to cry at the sight of it.

“Yes, obviously. I think we might have to leave the country, actually. For a bit, anyway”

Harry’s eyes are dancing. “‘Mione?”

Hermione’s there, with a hastily packed bag, and Harry’s Gringott’s key and a pair of shoes for Draco. “I’ve made you a Portkey, it will take you to the Order safe house in Scotland.”

“There’s a-“

“Yes, you prat, which you’d know if you’d paid any attention at any Order meetings.”

“Can you take the snake to Luna? Actually, fuck that? Draco? We have a snake now.”

Draco blinks at him. “What’s happening?” he asks, a little nervously.

“Hermione’s enacting a getaway plan” Harry says. He drapes the snake around Draco’s shoulders and comes back to wrap his arms around Hermione. “‘Mione. I love you so much. You are…you…”

“Yes, of course I know. Go, Harry, before the Greengrass family comes with shotguns. We’ll owl you when the heat dies down. I love you too. Go. Be happy”

So they do.


End file.
